Chapter 240 Bandit Style
Lucknow is actually quite good. Not only does it have many well-preserved ancient buildings, but its modern construction is only slightly inferior to that of New Delhi.
The train station here is more spectacular than Mumbai's Victoria Station, and King George's Medical College is even internationally renowned.
If you only look at the city center, Lucknow is already a modern city.
Ron flew here from Varanasi. He wanted to take a break for two days before visiting Yadav, but reality did not allow it.
Somehow, the Daily News, which had been quiet, suddenly went into full swing, reporting on the demonstrations at the Sur Cement Plant for three consecutive days.
Damn, are the Tripathi family going crazy? It comes in waves?
Putting aside his leisure time for sightseeing, Ron immediately called Kavya who was far away in Mumbai.
Half an hour later, he met the local editor of The Times of India in a cafe in Lucknow.
When it comes to public opinion, he has never been inferior to anyone.
Any section of the Daily News or Times of India can easily beat it.
It just so happened that Muna was doing publicity in Mirzapur, and even the materials were ready.
Ron gave the editor a small gift, and the two parties agreed to publish the article tomorrow and the materials would be delivered before the evening.
After making some minor arrangements, Ron went straight to meet Yadav.
His intuition told him that the King of Mirzapur seemed to have quickened his pace.
This time, Ron did not go to Yadav's office, but visited his official residence.
This is not the first time the two parties have met, so there is no need for a middleman to convey messages.
After paying out nearly 9 million rupees, Ron has now become an important figure in Yadav's list.
Upon hearing that he was visiting, Yadav directly asked his servants to greet him.
The meeting place was in the garden. When Ron came in, Yadav was eating a mango with relish.
"Would you like some?" He licked the juice from his fingers.
"I've had a stomachache lately," Ron declined.
The way he eats, it's hard to have an appetite.
“The fruits in Uttar Pradesh are no worse than those in Mumbai.”
"Yeah, that's why I came back."
"But you're still going," he said, putting down the towel he was using to wipe his mouth and looking over. "You need to pay more attention to the cement factory. We made a promise to the reporters."
"The cement plant is fine. The answer will be in tomorrow's newspaper."
"newspaper?"
"This isn't a tabloid like the Daily News. The Sur Cement Plant has created thousands of jobs and solved the road problem in the north. Isn't that worth promoting?"
"Road? What are you going to do?" Yadav waved his hand to let the servant go down.
"Build a cement road from Mirzapur to Varanasi, a distance of 60 kilometers, which is unique in the east."
"Not bad." Yadav nodded with satisfaction. This was also his political achievement.
"The Daily News." Ron looked up at him.
"I'll say hello, but you have to deal with those farmers as soon as possible. Some reporters are always trying to make big news."
"I understand." Ron nodded.
"As I said, don't let it be reported in the newspapers, and everything else will be easy."
Ron's expression changed slightly. He didn't hear the words "Don't kill anyone."
"Are you sure the cement plant can be completed on time? I have included it in Uttar Pradesh's strategic plan. If anything goes wrong, you and I will become a laughing stock," Yadav said with a warning.
"Of course, the cement plant will start trial production within two months, but..."
"Um?"
"The electricity is not stable enough, so I plan to build my own power station."
"Tell me what you need?" Yadav asked directly.
"Coal! Sonbhadra's coal!"
Yadav leaned back in his chair, his eyes studying Ron.
He was about to say something when someone came in. It was his younger brother Satya.
"Hey, Satya, come here." He tilted his head and introduced them to each other.
Satya looks a lot like his brother, with the same dark complexion and round face.
He bowed to Ron, then asked his men to unfold the poster with anticipation.
"This is the campaign poster I made, brother, what do you think?"
“Oh, so you’re running in the district election?” Yadav asked, examining the poster.
The poster, with red text on a yellow background, was a typical Indian style. Two figures, smiling and clasping their hands in greeting, appeared on it. They were the brothers.
Slogans reading "Long Live the Great Socialist Party!" can be seen everywhere, just like the slogans on the streets.
"This is the final version after asking the Holy Master for guidance. He said I will definitely win." Satya smiled with anticipation.
Yadav said nothing. He looked up at his brother and asked, "How tall are you?"
"172 cm." Satya said without hesitation.
"How high is your position in the party?" Yadav asked again.
"Uh" Satya was stunned.
"Why are you as tall as me in the poster? Can you be on par with the Chief Minister?"
Satya’s smile froze, and there was embarrassment on her face.
"It's just a small local election, and they still need to borrow my name. What will happen during the state election?"
"I'll change it right away." Satya replied with a forced smile.
“How many copies did you print?”
"Two hundred thousand."
Yadav said nothing and suddenly turned his eyes to Ron beside him.
Hmm? Ron looked up and met his gaze, then something clicked in his mind.
“Mr. Yadav, once the poster is fixed and printed, send me the bill.”
"Why don't you thank Mr. Sur?" Doctor Yada looked at his brother.
"Thank you very much for your help." Satya bowed to Ron again.
"You're welcome." Ron shook his head, feeling a little helpless.
"Go down." Yadav waved his hand and sent his brother away.
"This is his first time participating in an election and he doesn't know the rules."
"Support the Socialist Party. This is our common goal." Ron nodded politely.
"Everyone says that politicians are greedy bitches, but in fact it is the voters. They will choose whoever gives them more money." Yadav spread his hands helplessly.
"That makes sense."
"By the way, where were we just now?"
"Power plants, coal mines."
"It's yours." Yadav wiped his hands, got up and left.
Ron curled his lips, stood up silently and turned around.
What a greedy fellow, as rude as his caste.
Things like coal mines are given by the government to enterprises, but no one wants them.
But for Yadav, it seems like a gift.
God knows how much the bill he will issue for printing 200,000 posters will be.
These bandits hardly miss any opportunity to make money, and no amount of money can stop them from talking.
After leaving Yadav's residence, Ron was even thinking about reaching out to other opposition parties here in Uttar Pradesh.
He is a businessman. Isn't it normal for him to bet on several sides?
Yadav's behavior was too bandit-like, and Ron didn't want to put all his hopes on one side.
Thinking about these questions, Ron got into the car and asked Anil to go directly to the airport.
As soon as he left, an SUV with Mirzapur "Kalinbai" license plate also stopped at Yadav's door.
Back at the cement factory, Ron was shocked by what he saw.
The long queue was several hundred meters long and extended directly to the concrete road outside.
"What's going on?"
"Master, they are all here to register."
"Sign up?"
"Yes, the whole of Mirzapur knows that we are hiring here. The great Mr. Sur is offering a generous salary."
Muna changed. In just a few days, he became a completely different person.
He no longer guarded the mine and focused on publicity.
He seemed to be born for this line of work, and every time he came back, he was stronger than before.
He has a yellow cloth tied around his head with a sun symbol, signifying that he is a supporter of the Sur family.
Every day he would give loud speeches in front of tea shops or follow the trucks as they bumped back and forth on the dirty streets of Mirzapur.
With a microphone in hand, he shouted, “Mirzapur needs the great Mr. Sur!”.
In less than a week, all the 200,000 people in this small town knew Mr. Sur's name.
Of course, the salary of Rs 300 played a big role.
"Has anyone else come to cause trouble in the past few days?" Ron pinched his chin, his eyes flickering.
"No, the farmers before didn't dare to come." Muna reported excitedly.
"Um?"
"They would be beaten back by the villagers, who would call them scum and traitors. If they still want to live in the village, they would never dare to cause trouble again."
"Good, very well done." Ron didn't expect that Muna's performance far exceeded his expectations.
“Master, the tricks played by the Tripathi family will not cause any harm to you.”
"The cement plant is about to start production. At this critical moment, be careful of their sneak attacks."
"Yes, master, I will keep an eye on it." Muna is now full of fighting spirit.
"By the way, what's your last name?"
"Uh, Master," Muna hesitated, not knowing how to start.
"Don't worry, I'm just asking casually. Caste doesn't matter." Ron comforted him.
"Halvi." Muna answered nervously.
"Is it from sugar production?"
"Yes, Master."
Halvi means "sweet maker" in Sanskrit.
This was Munna's caste and his destiny, and everyone living in Mirzapur would understand it immediately.
This is why Muna went to work in the tea shop at the entrance of the village. When the boss saw him, he thought: Oh, their surname is Harvi, and they were born to make sugar and tea.
Munna used to wonder, if they were really born to make sweets, why didn’t his father make sweets but pull a rickshaw?
Why did he spend his childhood smashing coal and cleaning tables instead of growing up eating sweet braised eggs and rose hips?
Why is he thin, small and flexible, instead of being plump and having smooth skin like a child who grew up eating candy?
Muna later gradually realized that his father might really have been a candy maker.
But when he inherited the sweet shop, someone from another caste must have snatched the shop away with the help of the police.
His father was not strong enough to fight back, so he was reduced to pulling a rickshaw, and he did not become a white, plump, and smooth-skinned man.
Only when you have strength can you speak with confidence. This strength is not just fists, it can also be other things.
He has tasted some of this feeling these days, but he still hasn't figured it out.
In short, in the past, caste determined everything in India.
It's the same now, but there are some differences.
Thousands of castes, thousands of destinies.
Up to now, there are probably only two fates: eat others, or be eaten.
The halvi of Munna is of the Shudra caste and can only be eaten in Mirzapur.
He has read a lot of books recently and has understood this truth.
"The caste of sugar makers" Ron had some understanding in his mind.
It’s good to make sugar. Uttar Pradesh is full of sugarcane, which is definitely a pillar industry.
“Muna, are there many people of this caste?”
"A lot, Master." Muna was curious.
It seems that the master's focus is not on the caste difference.
(End of this chapter)
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